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'It's magnificent enough to be a palace!' she observed as she went before him up the stone steps, her hand lingering on the crumbling crest that decorated the bottom of the balustrade.

'It is a palace. My family have lived here since the Middle Ages. Parts of the building still date from then, but much of it was rebuilt in Napoleonic times. Come inside, Debbie, and meet my family.'

But Deborah hung back. 'I wish I were wearing something else!' She made a face at her jeans. 'Funny, really, if anyone had asked me I should have said I was ideally dressed for being kidnapped—and then you have to bring me to a place like this! Whoever heard of anyone wearing jeans in a palace?'

He was amused. 'I'm afraid you'll have to wait until we've bought you something more suitable. Cheer up, little one, I will tell them you are a sculptor and that will explain everything!'

Deborah told herself that a kidnap victim—if that was what she was, and she still had her doubts about that—was not expected to be a social success, and certainly not to be nervous about whether the captor's family should like her or not, but, all the same, she could not resist peering at herself in the large, speckled glass on the wall in the hall and tried to smooth down her tangled, knotted hair. She might have made an effort to renew her make-up as well, but something in the way Domenico Manzu was looking at her brought the colour rushing into her face. It was a very masculine look, against which her present clothing was a most inadequate defence.

'Ready?' he asked her. He held out his hands for her jacket, but she shook her head, pulling her shirt forward over her breasts with fretful fingers. The movement amused him and she cursed herself for being so obvious.

'How many are there in your family?' she asked him, recovering a little of her usual poise.

'At the moment only my mother and my sister are staying here, but I have two brothers also. They need not concern you for the moment, however. My sister's fiancé calls frequently, but as yet he does not live here.'

So, she thought, he didn't much care for his prospective brother-in-law. She hoped the dislike was mutual, for an ally in the household who came and went at will was bound to be useful.

'And do they all know that you've kidnapped me?' she pressed him.

'They will not believe you if you tell them so,' he responded dryly. 'As far as they are concerned you are the daughter of a business acquaintance come to stay with us.'

She was immediately indignant. 'You expect me to pretend to such a thing when you've brought me here against my will?'

He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. 'You won't find it half as difficult as you think. They haven't the least reason for disliking you, you know. They will be delighted to have such a pretty guest to stay with them!'

'Even an involuntary guest?' Strangely, she didn't sound either cross or frightened, but only eager for a new experience that might never have come her way otherwise. How many people did one know who had actually stayed in a Roman palace? Deborah didn't know any. More, she had never before met anybody who had pretensions to being a member of the Black Nobility who, less now than before, had made up the secular court of the Pope. Nowadays the papacy was trying to shed most of the trappings of monarchy and the Black Nobility were no longer as important as in former times, but there was still an aura about the old names, Catholic and respectable to a man, and to the ancient offices that many of them still held within the Vatican, the small area to which the Pope's former possessions have been reduced. Who knew, Deborah said to herself, the famous people, perhaps even the Popes themselves, who had preceded her as guests within these noble portals? That was a thrill enough for anyone!

Domenico Manzu's lips twitched. 'I see you are becoming resigned to your fate at last. If you will allow yourself to be, you will be very happy here as our guest, no?'

He bent his head towards her and smiled. Deborah took fright and withdrew hastily into herself. She had the unpleasing notion that he had meant to kiss her and the idea that he should do so was somehow shocking to her.

'Please don't!'

'You object to such an innocent salute?' he questioned her.

'Yes, I think I do,' she said.

The look he gave her was intimate and therefore unwelcome to her. His eyes mocked her indignant glance. 'Only think? Shall I change your mind for you?'

'Certainly not!' she said with resolution. Her eyes fell before his. 'It isn't fair to take advantage of me when I'm supposed to be your guest. It isn't fair!' she added in harassed tones, thus completely ruining her effect.

'You have a ready tongue with which to defend yourself, however,' he murmured.

Her eyes flashed. 'I am still your prisoner!'

His amusement disconcerted her. 'Remember that,' he warned her, 'before you tempt me to forget your reluctance to be here. I should find it very easy to forget,' he added with an irony that made the back of her neck prickle.

'I'm scarcely likely to forget it!' she retorted tardy. 'But if you so much as lay a finger on me, I'll scream the house down! What would your family think then,
signore?'

His casual shrug made her temper flare within her. 'That I am a man and easily tempted,' he answered her. 'What else should they think?'

'I'm sure they'd be very shocked if they saw you kissing me against my will. Why, my mother would blow a fuse if she were to find
me '

He pushed her hair back behind her ears. 'That is one of the advantages of being a man,
signorina
. My family, like yours, would undoubtedly be far more shocked at your allowing me to kiss you than by my doing so. It's the way of the world!'

She opened her eyes wide. 'You mean they'd blame
me
?'

He considered her in silence for a moment. 'I am sure you would consider that to be unfair also,' he commented at last, 'but they would undoubtedly do so. Shall we go in now so that you can meet them?'

She nodded, wishing she had the power to devastate his arrogant confidence in himself with a few well chosen words. She cast a last, brief look at herself in the glass and caught a glimpse of someone who shared her features but whom she didn't know at all. This stranger was far from looking the reluctant, misused captive of her imagination. On the contrary, there was a distinct sparkle in her eyes that spoke volumes about the anticipation with which she looked forward to seeing more of the Manzu palace and the treasures it contained. Her spirits were obviously, nay blatantly, uncrushed by the adventure in which she was an unwilling participant.

The drawing room was large by any standards. The huge expanse of marble floor was covered here and there by expensive rugs, and groups of exquisite French furniture huddled together for support at intervals with a lack of cosiness that made Deborah wonder why the Manzus didn't close the room and meet elsewhere. But apparently she was alone in feeling overwhelmed by such surroundings. Domenico's mother, dressed in the inevitable black of Mediterranean widowhood, was seated on one of the fragile gilded chairs at the far end of the room, the cane in her hand resting on the floor between her immaculately shod feet. She watched her son's approach through half-closed eyes, seeming not to see Deborah at all.

'You are late,' she greeted her son.

'But in a good cause,' he returned with a faint smile. 'We have a guest from England, Mamma. Unhappily, her luggage has been mislaid, so she asks you to excuse her choice of dress for luncheon.' He led Deborah forward by the hand, his fingers as hard as steel against her wrist as she momentarily hung back. 'Miss Deborah Beaumont, Mamma. Debbie, my mother, the Signora Manzu.'

Deborah extended her hand. 'How do you do?'

The Signora inclined her head graciously. 'Do you speak any Italian, Miss Beaumont? Not that it matters in this household, but my daughter's fiancé is not a linguist.'

'I'm afraid I don't,' Deborah admitted. 'I tried to learn a few words before I came, but until you hear people actually speaking all around you, it's hard to believe in it as a serious proposition.'

'I understand exactly,' the older woman acknowledged. 'I used to feel like that about German. Surely, I would tell myself, they don't actually speak this language to each other. We were soon to discover that they did! But you are too young to know anything about those days! What are you doing in Italy?'

Deborah opened her mouth to reply, but was as speedily cut off by Signor Manzu. 'She sculpts, Mamma, and came with a group of other young artists to see Rome. Her father is Beaumont International, though, and he preferred she should stay with us
en famille
in view of all the kidnappings there have been recently in Rome and the bad press his company has been having.'

Deborah stared at him, not knowing whether to believe him or not. If it were not true, it was certainly an audacious lie! 'Beaumont International is nothing to do with me!' she declared.

The Signora Manzu's eyes snapped with amusement. 'You would sooner be with your friends?' she suggested. 'How young people have changed from my day! In your place I should have found it irresistible to have Domenico constantly at my side to protect me from these bad men!'

Deborah's smile reached her eyes, bringing out the green glints in her irises. 'I'm sorry to say I don't trust your son,
signora
. I think he may be a wolf in sheep's clothing.'

It took a second for the older woman to understand the illusion, then she shrugged. 'Who wants to be at the mercy of a silly sheep,
cara?
But you are wise to be careful ! My friends tell me that Domenico is seldom to be seen with the same girl twice! You must see to it that he looks after you properly while you are in Rome. It is more than time that some nice girl took him in hand and put an end to his flitting from one flower to the next. I shall rely on you to encourage him to take stock of his responsibilities for the future. Will you do this for me?'

'I'll do my best,
signora
,' Deborah smiled. She eyed Domenico from beneath her lashes to see how he was taking his mother's teasing and quailed at the look in his eyes. Apparently she had made his mother the wrong answer. 'I shall want to see my own friends too,' she added on a pugnacious note. 'Especially Michael!'

'While you are in Rome and are my guest I shall naturally do all I can to entertain you,' he promised gracefully, bowing over her hand. 'If I am noble enough to take you shopping this afternoon, I shall expect to have your exclusive attention for the rest of the day. Is that fair,
signorina?'

'This afternoon, yes, but don't expect me to ignore my friends all the time I'm here, because I won't!'

'Your father would prefer it if you did,' he answered dryly, 'but I'm prepared to settle for your company only for the time when I can look after you personally. Is that a deal?'

He held out his hand to her and she had put her own in his before she had time to change her mind.

'I suppose you think I've given you my word now, but I can't promise not to try to reach my friends. I came to Rome in the first place to be with them.'

'If I were you I would choose my friends more carefully,' he responded, looking grim. 'And I do think you have given your word,
signorina
. I am looking forward to being proved right to trust in a woman's honour. You will not disappoint me?'

'Domenico!' his mother protested. 'If these are friends of Miss Beaumont's '

'Friends! Deborah's father is a rich man, Mamma, a fact which Deborah may ignore, but which her friends do not! She is being ridiculous when she shows such loyalty to those she would be far better off without! One cannot help but question their motives '

The Signora looked upset. 'I think this cannot be any business of yours, my son,' she said quickly, her concern written clearly on her face. 'If Miss Beaumont likes them, why should she doubt that they like her too? And if they sometimes accept her father's largesse, what is that to do with you?'

Deborah's mouth twisted into a wry smile. 'Most people sit up and take notice when money is concerned, don't they,
signore?'

Domenico gave her a fiery look. 'If that is your experience, who am I to gainsay you? However, I think you will admit that here you have every comfort, which is more than these friends of yours would have provided you with!'

'Why shouldn't I admit it? That doesn't mean I shouldn't prefer my friends' poverty to '

'Careful,
cara,'
he warned her. 'This afternoon I shall put these claims of yours to the test. It won't be my fault if the Mouth of Truth nips your fingers off!' His expression relaxed into a smile. 'Have you heard of our Mouth of Truth,
signorina?'

She shook her head. She would have liked to have questioned him about it, but at that moment a maid came into the room and announced that lunch was ready and waiting for them in the dining room. Signora Manzu gathered them up and led the way firmly from one enormous room to another, protesting that her hunger would brook no further delays, not even for Deborah to examine the many works of art that decorated the dining room.

'Food,' she declared, 'is the greatest art of them all! And the only one that can't be put off until tomorrow for one's full attention. A good meal waits for no man! Some good pasta and a fine wine is all one needs to make the world seem a different place! Don't you agree, my dear?'

And, not a little amused by such a forthright declaration of the proper priorities in life, Deborah admitted that she did.

From
her bedroom window Deborah could see some of the umbrella pines for which Rome is famous. Their scent came up into the room, beckoning her to the freedom she would find outside the Manzu palace if only she could find some way to escape. Yet there were many attractions inside her comfortable prison too. She admitted the fact to herself reluctantly, ashamed by her own spinelessness in not really wanting to escape— not until she had seen the marvellous works of art that she knew the palace contained! Any artist would want to do that, she comforted herself, so why not she?